


He Doesn't Like To Text

by Aelfay



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 20:06:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12801378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelfay/pseuds/Aelfay
Summary: Greg finds out Mycroft doesn't text. Originally posted on tumblr.





	He Doesn't Like To Text

Lestrade and Mycroft text all the time. Lestrade doesn’t think anything of it: it started with a text using Sherlock’s phone when he found him overdosed. “Brother” was in contacts, so he shot a quick text off while waiting in the hospital for news.

After that, it’s always just faster to send tiny notes via text when he can. He was a little surprised by how Mycroft always replied; overly formal, still signing his texts with “Mycroft H”.

It all comes to a head when he’s at a crime scene and hits “send” on a silly little observation about how Sherlock likes the way his coat twirls and Sherlock snatches the phone out of his hand. “A new paramour, Lestrade?” he jeers before his eyes go wide and he tilts his head. “Ah.”

Greg shoves his hands in his pockets. “What’s ‘ah’ mean, then? And you can give me back my phone while you’re at it.”

Sherlock hands the phone back as if it’s infested with something that even  _he_ doesn’t want to touch. “My brother never texts if he can talk, Greg,” he says, sounding disturbed, and stomps off.

Lestrade doesn’t know which is more annoying: that Sherlock apparently has always known his name, or that he has absolutely no idea what that comment was meant to mean.

It bugs him until later that night, when he finds himself hitting “call” on his phone, to a number he’s never actually called before.

“Detective Inspector. Is everything alright?” Mycroft sounds worried: Lestrade wonders how he can tell, but he can, even though Mycroft’s voice is level and steady. He realises that he’s never called before, not even when Sherlock overdosed. It’s no wonder the man’s thought something’s wrong.

“No, it’s all fine,” he hurries to reply. “Just. Er.” He has no idea how to say this without sounding awkward. Oh well. “Sherlock said you don’t like to text. So I thought I’d call. And, er, ask if I should stop. Or call. If something’s important.”

Silence from the other side of the telephone for a moment, and Greg wonders exactly how badly he’s botched all this up, but then Mycroft’s voice says smoothly, “I don’t mind your texts at all, Detective Inspector. Though should you wish to speak to me, face-to-face would be preferable. There’s a lovely coffee shop near New Scotland Yard that might agree with you.”

Lestrade pauses and then takes a deep breath. “Ought to work,” he says, trying to sound casual as he stares at his fridge and sticks his free hand in his pocket. “What time?”

“Seven AM? I’ll send a car for you,” Mycroft replies.

It’s early but Greg will make it work. “Sounds good,” he agrees. “And it’s Greg if we’re speaking to each other now.”

“Gregory,” Mycroft says as if he’s testing it out, and Lestrade blinks at the sound of his full name. “Very well, Gregory, I shall look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

“Right, yeah, see you,” Lestrade says, and the call ends, and he realises he’s staring at the phone with a great sopping grin on his face. “Doesn’t like to text,” he mutters as he shoves his phone in his pocket with a smile.


End file.
